


all you have to do (to make it real)

by canticle



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Basically, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, and akira literally tackles him out of it, brief suicidal ideation via shadow attack, ryuji gets hit with the despair ailment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 15:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14772119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canticle/pseuds/canticle
Summary: Later, Akira will look back at it and blame himself furiously, as if he wasn’t all but tied up in manhandling the goddamn snake-ladies. It could have been any one of them. It’s just bad luck that it ended up being Ryuji.





	all you have to do (to make it real)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pigsocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigsocks/gifts).



> this was a commission for pigsocks! thank you so much!

 

The Shadow’s attack slams into Ryuji like a brick through a glass wall and leaves him still as a statue.

It’s a new one, a type they’ve never seen before, a brilliant red bird surrounded by a coven of five Lamia, their tails writhing and sliding across the floor in nauseating coils. Later, Akira will look back at it and blame himself furiously, as if he wasn’t all but tied up in manhandling the goddamn snake-ladies. It could have been any one of them. It’s just bad luck that it ended up being Ryuji.

None of them notice at first; Queen’s hiked herself around a Lamia’s shoulders and is punching it furiously in the side of the head, and Panther has summoned Carmen twice and is raring for a third. The floor is littered with scorch marks and the air reeks of Johanna’s particular afterburn scent when the red bird flares its wings and hisses something piercing and unknowable, something that slithers through Akira’s ears like an oil slick, leaving him feeling dirty. He scrubs his palms through his hair, grimacing at the crunchy sweaty feel, and as he turns to check his six he sees Skull drop his bat.

It’s enough of a distraction that he wastes a moment staring, and pays for it when a Lamia whips him with its tail right across the face. He goes sprawling— he’s pretty sure his nose is broken, and the taste of blood is immediately prevalent and overpowering— but as he rolls to his feet he’s that much closer to Skull.

Which is good, because there’s something...off about him. His eyes are glassy; he’s got a thousand yard stare that’s seeing absolutely nothing, and his mouth hangs slack, just a bit. It’s a miracle that none of the Lamia have touched him; it’s unnerving that he hasn’t made a move toward any of  _ them. _ “Skull,” he says, and then a little louder as he pushes himself to his feet and spits the blood out of his mouth. “ _ Skull. _ We’ve got work to do—”

In a smooth motion, Ryuji unholsters his shotgun, staring right at the red bird, who’s looking right back at him. In the same motion, he flips it, tucks it under his chin, and closes his eyes.

Later, Akira’s unable to piece together what he did, or how fast he crossed the fifteen feet between them. All he remembers is a singular icy jolt of  _ no _ , of adrenaline spiking so hard that everything turns icy and crystallized.

But in the moment, the here and now, he hits Ryuji like a freight train and sends both of them skidding, rolling uncontrollably across the filthy Mementos floor. He hits his head again and gets smacked in the face with the shotgun as Ryuji drops it, but the second they come to a halt he shoves himself to his hands and knees.

Yurlungur comes at his wordless shout, its long rainbow body curling around and above his head. Ryuji shifts; without looking, Akira shoves him back down to the floor and sets a knee onto his shoulder to keep him there.  _ “Ravage them, _ ” he hisses, and it sprays ice in two wide, curving arcs across the battlefield. A shard or two smack into Panther, and he’ll have to apologize for that later, but it does the trick. The Lamia melt into nothingness, and the red bird— it tries to tell him its name, tries to bargain for its continued existence as part of him, but he lunges for its throat before it can finish speaking.

Only then does he sheathe his dagger and turn around.

Ann’s already helping Ryuji sit up— there’s a big red mark on his cheek that will probably bruise if it’s left alone for too long, but that awful, glazed, empty look is nowhere to be found. He’s biting the inside of his cheek. He looks a little haunted, and flinches a bit when Makoto brings his shotgun back to him and rests a hand on his forehead, green sparks flickering around her fingertips. The red mark vanishes; the haunted look lessens, turns to sheepishness. 

As Akira walks up to them, he hears Ann ask “What happened? All we saw was Joker tackling you and then—”

“It was...in my head,” Ryuji admits, shoving his mask up to wipe the sweat off his forehead. There’s a twist to his mouth and a shake in his fingers that Akira doesn’t like. He keeps his hands shoved in the pockets of his coat to stop himself from reaching out. “Sayin’ all sorts of gross shit, tellin’ me that I— y’know, was worthless, should kill myself, but like— it’s not anythin’ worse than what I’m used to, heh.”

It’s a lot harder to keep his composure at that. Akira’s so tense he feels like he could shatter, every inch of him aching to reach out and grab him tight enough to squeeze the past ten minutes out of their heads entirely.

Before he can do anything stupid, though, Yusuke pulls up in the Mona-mobile, Futaba sticking her head out through the door and waving to them. 

Usually Akira insists on driving out of Mementos, counting on his third eye and enhanced senses to avoid as many shadows as they can when they’re all tired out and low on sp, but today he clambers gracelessly into the back seat next to Ryuji without a word. Makoto gives him an odd look as she takes the wheel, but he doesn’t care. He settles in against the window, and for a while there’s nothing but quiet post-battle conversation, until Ryuji scoots in closer, their shoulders touching. “Hey man,” he says lowly, “thanks for earlier.”

Akira looks at him. There’s strain in the corners of his eyes and mouth, distress hidden in the line of his shoulders; on impulse he grabs Ryuji’s hand, and Ryuji squeezes it hard enough that his bones creak, but Akira squeezes right back. “Stay at my place tonight,” he blurts. “We don’t know— there could be aftereffects—”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Ryuji says with a sheepish look, though the grip he has on Akira’s hand belies his words. “I’ve had worse, ‘s not anything I’m not used to.”

It makes a nauseated sort of twist in Akira’s stomach to hear that. “That’s all well and good,” he says, “but—”

“But?” Ryuji prompts after a moment, and Akira’s mouth is cottony and dry, he doesn’t have the words to explain how horrifying watching Ryuji press the shotgun to his chin was, how entirely sure he is that he won’t be able to close his eyes without seeing that as an afterimage, that if he can’t reassure himself that Ryuji is here and breathing and alive—

He jerks when Ryuji’s other hand lands on his knee and squeezes, and only then does he unclench his hand marginally from the one of Ryuji’s he’s still holding. If they both weren’t wearing gloves, Ryuji would probably have bloody crescents in his skin.

Ryuji tsks and pats his knee twice, brisk and businesslike. “Maybe I should go home with you,” he says, “if only for some of Boss’s curry and some video games, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Akira says, and swallows the dryness in his throat. But he doesn’t let go of Ryuji’s hand, and Ryuji keeps rubbing circles on his kneecap, and though it’s not something they’ve talked about out loud, when they get back to the cafe Akira doesn’t set up a blanket futon on the floor for him. They kick their shoes off and eat too much curry and play video games with their sides mashed together, and at some point while they’re catching up on X-Folders Akira drops his head onto Ryuji’s shoulder and keeps it there.

He feels Ryuji jump, just a bit, and turn to look at him. There’s a question in the air that he doesn’t even know how to start answering. He’s still sore from knocking them both to the ground, even after a surreptitious dia to fix his nose before getting in the Monabus; he’s still seeing Ryuji’s shotgun dimpling into his skin every time he blinks. He still hears “I’ve had worse,” and it makes him just as queasy each time it plays back in his mind. 

“Ryuji,” he says; his voice is so gravelly it comes out hoarse, and he clears his throat without looking up. “I— listen.”

“I’m listenin’.” His voice is soft; Akira feels his breath on the crown of his head. It takes him a moment or two longer than he’d like to speak. He picks up Ryuji’s hand and presses his thumb into the middle of it, cradling it between his own.

He’s not sure what is going to come out when he opens his mouth, but “Today scared me” wasn’t what he was expecting.

It’s true, though, and he says it again. “It— watching you go all— with the gun— I can’t. That was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” Ryuji says curiously, wiggling his fingers until Akira lets him slot them into the gaps between his own. “Worse’n when I got charmed and had a gun to your face? Worse’n when you’ve gone down and we weren’t fast enough to get you back up?”

“Yes,” he says immediately, firmly wedging his head a little further into the crook of Ryuji’s neck. It’s not quite enough, so he shifts back and wraps an arm around Ryuji’s waist to anchor himself. “You don’t deserve to feel like that.”

Ryuji is quiet for a long moment. Without speaking, he flops backward, bringing Akira with him; he rolls onto his side and props his chin up on his hand, looking at Akira solemnly. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“It  _ is, _ ” Akira insists, rolling to face him. They’re barely a foot apart and touching shin-to-shin; he shoves one of his calves between Ryuji’s and watches him flush just a bit. “It really is. It’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” Ryuji says, but gently, his free hand coming up to rest hesitantly on Akira’s face. His palm is warm; it’s a comforting weight, even more so when Ryuji tucks some hair behind his ear. “You of all people know that.”

“I’m gonna make it be fair to you.” It’s a stupid declaration, one he can’t possibly keep, but it makes Ryuji’s eyes soften and brings a small and genuine smile to his face. It’s something Akira wants to keep there as long as possible.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And fuck it if that wasn’t a declaration said and received— Akira leans the rest of the way in and plants a kiss on his mouth.

There aren’t any fireworks or anything— it’s a little graceless, the edge of Akira’s glasses bumping into Ryuji’s cheek, their noses brushing awkwardly— but Ryuji makes a surprised, pleased noise, and a moment later his arms are wrapped around Akira, pulling him in. They slot together much more nicely once Akira’s shoved his glasses somewhere off the side of the bed, once they figure out that if Ryuji tucks his arm under Akira’s neck they can fit even closer together. It makes it easier for Akira to feather kisses across his brow and the arch of his nose, holding Ryuji in place when he gets embarrassed and tries to duck away.

“I’m gonna chase all those thoughts away,” he murmurs.  _ One kiss at a time. One moment like this at a time. _ “I don’t want you to have to feel worthless again.”  _ You’re worth everything. _ “You’re so important to me.”

“Jeez, dude!” Ryuji whines, and  _ oh _ his face is so red, but he’s got a pleased little grin that he can’t quite chase away, and he lets Akira tip his face back up to kiss him properly again.

“Never again,” he repeats, and weighs the words like a promise. “Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryuji mutters. “Can we just—”

“Oh, getting greedy now?”

“Dude!”

Akira takes pity on him and kisses him again with a grin. “As many as you want.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _It's not that I want you_  
>  _Not to say, but if you only knew_  
>  _How easy it would be to show me how you feel_  
>  _More than words is all you have to do to make it real_  
>  _Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me_  
>  ' _Cause I'd already know_  
>  -more than words by extreme
> 
> come hit me up at my tumblr, cant-icle!


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